


Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot

by Angela



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: M/M, New Year's Kiss, Post-Canon, Post-Side Story: Garden of Light, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 07:30:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17137601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angela/pseuds/Angela
Summary: It's New Year's Eve after the summer of Garden of Light, and Sing is dissatisfied with all the ways that his and Eiji's world haven't changed, after all.





	Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [knoxoursavior](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knoxoursavior/gifts).



> This fic takes place after the post-script story Garden of Light. Therefore, it has massive spoilers for the ending the of the Banana Fish manga and anime.
> 
> This fic was written for the 2018 Banana Fish Secret Gift Exchange. It's a present for Lauren (singeiji on Tumblr). Lauren listed fairly broad interests, as far as BF goes, but based on her name on Tumblr, I chose to write a tender moment between Sing and Eiji. I hope you like it, Lauren. Happy Holidays!

Sing spots the light as soon as he rounds the corner. It’s one of many illuminating the concrete stoops and front doors of the row of town homes, but something about that light – the soft golden color or the quality of its glow – is special to Sing. Every time, it’s like a beacon. _Welcome home._ He walks a bit faster now, the cold of the night not quite so piercing. _I’m thinking of you._ He bounds up the steps, fishes in his pocket for the key. _I care about you._

The neighborhood is quiet – at eleven-thirty, most of the neighbors are still out at parties. Those who aren’t are probably watching the Times Square ruckus on TV, or else asleep already, unconcerned with the New Year and all the manic celebration that surrounds it. Eiji is undoubtedly in that last category.

Eiji never cared for New Year’s parties, claiming that he prefers to start a fresh year with a good night’s sleep, a cup of tea instead of a hangover. He never asked Sing to stay home with him, usually insisting that he go out and have fun, and Sing pretty much always did exactly that. This year it was a black tie affair in a penthouse downtown. Yut Lung asked him to go in his place, to meet with someone about a deal that, on paper at least, would make millionaires of everyone involved.

Sing doesn’t mind doing Yut Lung’s dirty work, so long as it it’s never too dirty. He thought he’d arrange the deal and then enjoy the party, figuring he’d find a beautiful woman to spend the evening with – someone to kiss at midnight, at the very least, though more likely someone who would also cook him his first breakfast of 1994. 

Eiji left the hall light on for him, dimmed to almost nothing. Sing shrugs out his overcoat and Buddy pads down the stairs, tail wagging slowly in a sleepy version of his usual greeting. “Hey, Bud,” Sing says softly, plunging his fingers into the thick fur behind his ears. “You waiting up for me?”

The dog doesn’t know that he’s come home early, that he slipped out of the party just as it was really getting started. He met Yut Lung’s contact, set up a meeting for later in the week, then he’d had a few drinks and tried to enjoy the evening. But something was off – the party was wrong or he was wrong and all night he’d been restless. He was dancing with the most likely candidate for breakfast when he realized with a jolt that he wasn’t interested. Not in any of it. 

Less than ten minutes later he was outside, trying to wave down a taxi. The city streets were tight with revelers and cabs were scarce, so he started walking. It was a cold night – not bitter, but the sort of cold that cut through the thin fabric of his pants, sinking slowly through the wool of his overcoat. It was fourteen blocks back to Eiji’s, but it was early. The city was still bedazzled for Christmas, and he passed store fronts decked out with bells and paper snowflakes, fire escape railings lit up with twinkling lights. All Sing needed was snow, and the night would be perfect.

Snow, and someone to share it with.

Now he climbs the stairs, Buddy at his heels. He’s tired but not sleepy, and he wishes that Eiji were still up. They’ve never spent New Year’s Eve together, which seems crazy, with all the years they’ve known each other. He pauses in front of the closed door to Eiji’s bedroom. The hallway is dark, and no light glows from beneath the door. Sing puts his hand on the worn brass doorknob, but doesn’t turn it. It would be a violation, barging in there.

A staggering sigh shakes his shoulders. He wants to go in. So damn much. 

He leans his forehead against the smooth wood, imagining Eiji in there. He’d be fast asleep, the down coverlet bundled tight around his body, his long hair making a tangled frame around his face. Sing thinks about Eiji’s face when he sleeps, his lips parted, his dark lashes stark against too-pale skin. A complicated feeling builds in his chest – pain that feels like anger but with the blunted edges of longing and shame. He holds his breath, counts to three. It releases in a long shudder and for a moment he wonders if he’s about to cry.

A new year, just like all the others before. All the others since Ash. He’d hoped for a dramatic change, something to go along with Eiji’s breakthrough that summer. Eiji lets himself cry now, and they talk about Ash more, but healing takes time. It’s Sing’s own impatience that keeps letting him down, the whispering voice in the back of his mind that says maybe. _Maybe today he’ll see you._

“Sing?”

He looks up – Eiji is stepping through the door at the end of the hallway, the stairs up to the roof behind him. Sing straightens. He’s embarrassed to be caught like that, leaning on Eiji’s door like a lovelorn kid. “You’re still up!” Sing’s voice is too bright, his hands awkward as he hurriedly releases his grip on the doorknob.

Eiji’s smile is serene; he’s always willing to overlook Sing’s odder behavior. Sing wonders sometimes if it’s just his way of avoiding any discussion of feelings and reciprocation, but it feels uncharitable to question his motives. Eiji’s just a kind person.

“You’re home early,” he observes now. “It’s not even midnight.”

Sing shrugs. “I don’t really feel like socializing.”

Eiji walks past him, tweaking his bow tie as he passes. “That’s a shame,” he says. “You look good in a tuxedo.” Sing stares after him as he starts down the stairs, wondering numbly if he’s just been flirted with. Halfway down, Eiji turns, holds up his mug. “I was just going down for more cider. Do you want some?”

Sing trails him into the kitchen and watches from the doorway as Eiji ladles apple cider from a stock pot on the stove. The gas is off, but the cider’s still warm, whole cloves and orange slices bobbing on the top. He tips a healthy shot of bourbon into the mug and hands it to Sing, repeating the process for himself. “Let’s go back up to the roof,” he says. He glances down at the dog, who is making his way back into the living room. “Buddy won’t come out with me – too cold.” His voice is low, his even tone hiding a smile, and even though Sing’s still chilled from his walk home, he knows he won’t say no.

The roof is mostly bare – a flat, rectangular widow’s walk surrounded by an iron railing too low to save anyone from falling off. A few years before, Eiji brought up a heavy fire bowl and a couple of low patio chairs. It probably wasn’t safe, having a fire literally on the roof of the house, but they’d lived more dangerously than that, hadn’t they? Tonight he has a fire lit, mostly burned down to smolders. Sing throws a log on it, works it until it catches. That high up, the air is even colder, and the fire is the only thing that makes the roof bearable.

Eiji drapes a blanket over Sing’s shoulders as he crouches, poking the fire. It’s freezing, making Sing shiver, but after a few moments, his body heat warms it, and he’s grateful. It really blocks the wind. “What were you doing out here?” he asks once his teeth stop chattering.

Eiji is curled into his own blanket, perched on the edge of a chair pulled too near the fire. He sips the hot cider, a flush creeping over his cheeks as the drink warms him. “Thinking,” he says after considering the question for almost too long.

Sing wants to ask if he’s been thinking about Ash, but he knows better – if Eiji wants to talk about him, he will. If not, he’ll clam up and the whole night will be ruined. “You can’t think inside where it’s warm?” he asks instead.

Eiji laughs softly. “I guess not,” he says. “Inside it’s just any other night.” He stands and walks close to the iron railing, looking out into the bright glow of downtown. “Out here, it’s New Year’s Eve. I want to be out in the world when the year starts.”

“You should’ve come with me,” Sing says. “Nothing is quite as _out in the world_ as one of these fancy parties.” He lets himself consider how different it would’ve been with Eiji by his side, how easy it would’ve been to stay out until dawn. He imagines Eiji in a tuxedo, his long hair loose over his shoulders. He likes the idea.

“Ugh. No.” Eiji turns back to him, his grimace melting into a weak smile as he sees Sing’s expression. “That’s not what I mean. In Japan, we all came together to celebrate the new year – almost everyone I knew would go to the shrines for _hatsumode._ We were all there together, but it was kind of a private thing, too, just between you and the gods.”

Eiji’s words make him think of his days as the Chinatown boss – his whole existence was public, because there was never a moment when his guys weren’t with him. But sometimes, during a fight or in the moments right afterward, Sing felt like he was alone in the universe – just him and his gun and God. He looks up at the dark sky – no stars over Manhattan – and wonders if that’s the feeling Eiji’s searching for up here. “Alone in a crowded universe.”

“Out here, I am part of that universe,” Eiji agrees. “Inside, I’m just –” 

He trails off, but Sing thinks he understands what Eiji won’t say. He’s hidden inside that house for years – hiding from every reminder that the world continued past that last moment when he and Ash Lynx were both alive in the same space. Out here he’s facing the march of time head-on.

Sing downs the last of his cider, appreciating the heat of the bourbon in the lukewarm dredges. It’s not his first drink of the night, and while he’s nowhere near drunk, he’s had enough to appreciate the loose-limbed easiness of liquid courage. He stands and steps away from the fire, lifting one arm to drape it and the blanket around Eiji’s shoulders.

For the barest instant, Eiji stiffens, and Sing wonders if he’s going to pull away, but then his whole body relaxes, softening into Sing’s warmth. For a long time they stand just like that, looking out over the city. It’s alive with lights and noise and a part of Sing still longs to be down there, not content with the scraps he gets here, the guarded affection and invisible barriers. Another part – the larger part, he’s coming to realize – is learning to be satisfied. And when Eiji leans closer, tipping his head against Sing’s shoulder, his heart surges like his dreams are coming true.

“Why did you come home?” Eiji asks again, as if he hadn’t already heard Sing’s half-truth.

For some reason, Sing doesn’t need to gather his courage now. “I realized I’d rather be with you,” he says simply. For once he’s not trying an angle, he’s not throwing it out there just to see how Eiji will react. He just wants to admit it out loud. 

“Sing,” Eiji starts, and Sing prepares himself for the gentle rejection, the emotional walls and physical distance. But Eiji’s breath releases all at once, a white cloud across the black sky. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says at last, his voice no more than a rumble near Sing’s shoulder.

At that moment, the loud popping of firecrackers erupts somewhere below them. “Happy New Year!” a voice calls, echoed by cheering from a nearby apartment. On the roof there’s no confetti, no champagne, no tipsy chorus of “Auld Lang Syne.” There’s only a dying fire and a warm blanket. Only Sing and Eiji.

Eiji moves first, turning under Sing’s arm until they stand chest-to-chest, reaching up to cup the back of Sing’s neck with one cold hand. “Happy New Year,” Eiji whispers, his breath cider and bourbon and fantasies come to life. He tips up as Sing leans down, and their first kiss is slow and soft.

When they finally pull apart, Sing is muddled by a dozen emotions at once before he settles on disbelief. Eiji snuggles into his arms, his body simultaneously cold and warm against Sing’s chest and legs. “I want to start this year right,” Eiji says. “For so long now I’ve –” He starts, stops, and starts again. “I can’t even say I’ve lived in the past, because I refused to look at that, either. But now.” He leans back, gazing into Sing’s incredulous face. He grazes the line of Sing’s jaw with two fingers, using his thumb trace the dip in his chin below his bottom lip. “Now I’m ready to look at you, Sing. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Sing can’t speak. He’s not sure he remembers how to move. He blinks and blinks, realizing too late that he’s blinking back tears. All these years. For so long, this has been the impossible dream, and now Eiji is admitting that he knew. “What about Ash?” Sing closes his eyes, furious with himself for bringing him up and then ashamed that he’s furious. “I mean, all this time –” 

Eiji presses his mouth once more against Sing’s, silencing him. This time they kiss until they’re both warm with it, hands seeking purchase, clinging. In the breathless heartbeats after, Sing gazes down at Eiji, still stunned but slowly comprehending.

“You are not Ash,” Eiji says, his dark eyes flicking away and then back. “You are you. And I care for you.”

“You mean it?” Something giddy is building in Sing’s chest; he’s holding it in check, but barely. “I don’t want to rush you.”

Eiji’s laugh is soft and genuine. “This is hardly rushing,” he says. “But,” he looks out toward the city – weak fireworks shoot off from someplace nearby. “We will need to go slow.”

Sing wraps his arms more securely around Eiji, gathering him closer and snugging the blanket around them both. He leans his cheek on Eiji’s tousled hair, half out of its ponytail as usual. He’d crawl along if that’s what Eiji wants. He’d spend every day proving that, while he’ll never be Ash Lynx, he’ll never make Eiji cry the way Ash has. 

“Happy New Year,” Sing whispers against the warmth of Eiji’s head. “This year, and every one after.”


End file.
